Conjectures
by Chronomentrophobia
Summary: Because, in the end, Fuji does know the object of Tezuka's daily conjectures. Because Fuji is Fuji, simply and inexplicably. Genderbend!Fuji, Oishi, and others. Fuji/Tezuka, implied and pre-. ONESHOT


**So, first time in fandom! I should either be asking for mercy or completely terrified out of my wits. Fortunately, MD-buchou _did_ threaten me before this, so...hehehe...**

**Warnings: fem!Fuji and fem!Oishi among others, liberal interpretation of Tezuka's thoughts, Momoshiro cast as future captain (possibly because, in my headcanon, Kaidoh is female in this universe.) And, of course, Tezuka/Fuji, mostly just conjectures (thus the title) but it could use some polishing.**

* * *

**Conjectures **

**By Chronomentrophobia**

_Because, one fine day, my efforts might be appreciated. _

* * *

Tezuka is not sure whether he should be angry or not, seeing the elaborate movements: elegant but unnecessary. Fuji is tormenting yet another third-year with hope and a pleasant smile, pale arms windmilling in such a way that seems to be designed to attract attention––not that most of the Seigaku tennis club is not clustered around D-court, anyway.

He steps onto the court, ignoring the umpire's objections, and taps Fuji's wrist.

"Fuji."

She looks at him with a repoachful smile, a symbolic wave of the not quite white flag on her part. "Tezuka, what brings you here? Azanami-san and I are just having a match, are we not, _Azanami-san_?"

The poor girl in question nods, a blush gracing her cheeks, eyes following Tezuka. If she had less self-restraint, perhaps she would have been gaping, and that is too much, for Tezuka is a modest person. He steps back, gives Fuji his best glare.

"Carry on, and don't let your guard down."

The prodigy's lips quirk in acquiesce. "Very well, Tezuka. Should I give Azanami-san a handicap, as well? To level the playing field."

The good captain just wants to shake his head, but he only says, impassively, "Do as you like."

"Tezuka-kun!" Just then, his fukubuchou comes hurrying 'round the corner, hair flying free and eyes relieved. She is a reliable person, is Oishi Shuuko, but at times Tezuka only wishes for a more panic-free fukubuchou and a coupon for five Oishi-free minutes.

"Tezuka-kun, I've been searching for you! Everyone's abandoned practice, and…oh."

It is an _oh_ of understanding and an _oh _of exasperation, but it cannot be helped. Fuji is not moving in an intentionally flashy manner; they can both see that in her modest swings and understated grace, but she is _Fuji Syuusuke_, Triple Counter Prodigy, and everyone insists on _oohing _and _aahing_ over every move she makes.

Oishi, too, is awed––and impatient. It is easy to read the shine in the olive-green eyes, the jut of the chin, and the troubled frown playing with her lips, and Tezuka does so, because he can understand his fukubuchou's mindset.

By practice matches Oishi means everyone taking it easy, and the girl Fuji is playing (Azanami-san, was it not? Tezuka can ony remember faintly, because Oishi was relegated to public relations shortly after accepting their current posts) most definitely is not.

Which translates into: Oishi wants Tezuka to play Fuji. It is a point of contention.

"Game and match, Fuji! Six to one!" There are rivulets of sweat running down Azanami-san's face to ruin her makeup all the way to the way-too-thick foundation, and _ooh _it must feel bad to lose even to _Fuji Syuusuke_, because Azanami-san is considered skilled.

"It was a good game, Azanami-san," Fuji smiles sweetly without shaking the poor girl's hand, and Azanami-san blushes, her eyes following Tezuka from behind the wire fence, and _it really is too much_. He turns away to Fuji and Oishi, both watching him expectantly.

"Fuji, match with Oishi. I'm playing Momoshiro."

The second-year-future-captain smiles excitedly and beams at Tezuka's back. He barely hears the confident 'Thank you, Buchou!' before he is lunging for the little neon projectile, almost in slow motion like the hero in one of those American B-movies he is dragged to see monthly. Momoshiro's shots are heavy and fast, and he enjoys them, immersing himself in the sheer thrill of handling a racket. He can see flaws in the second-year's form, but Momoshiro will improve with time and instruction.

"Game and match, Tezuka! Six to love!"

Once he leaves Momoshiro lying stretched on A-court with a few words of advice, he wanders off to watch Fuji's and Oishi's match.

It is Oishi's practice match, the score 2-3 (Tezuka is used to thinking in numbers when it comes to tennis scores), Oishi's serve. They play each other lightly, almost languidly, in the heavy pre-storm air, without utilizing special moves or counters, but Fuji's arms are swinging in the air and Oishi is squinting so hard she may have a migraine. Tezuka offers silent sympathies and a mental aspirin bottle.

Fuji will win eventually at 6-4, since neither of them are really paying attention to their actions and no one wants the game to stretch on for long. Besides, Oishi knows she is talented, but not talented enough.

Not enough.

Tezuka is reminded of that each time he watches Fuji play tennis, and, well, why should he not? Fuji never shoes her true potential and takes whatever chance she can to laze off, something Tezuka finds positively appalling.

And the fact that Tezuka has not played her for some time.

"Game and match, Fuji! Six to four!" The referee is in awe of his senpai-tachi, and it shows in his voice.

Fuji just smiles and bends down to retie her shoelaces––properly, _Thank Kami-sama_, because tennis practice is not the time for liability claims on mass nosebleeds in D-court. Club hours are just ending, anyway.

* * *

There are times when he cannot find the time, nor willpower, to end practice, so he leaves the duty to Oishi because she enjoys the authority, while he does not. On these days, he slips away to walk home with Fuji.

Fuji has long learned not to comment, but her smile widens slightly as Tezuka falls into step with her outside the clubhouse. Theirs is a companionable silence, complete with knowing each other far too well for it to be a matter of convenience; there is no compulsion to fill anything up with small talk. Or so Tezuka thinks, but is it only their natures?

He enjoys Fuji's presence, not only because they are in cahoots over Echizen's situation (Echizen would probably throw his equivalent of a fit over it, were he to find out) but because Fuji is Fuji, simply and inexplicably. Oishi might be Shuuko once in a while, and Momo, Momoshiro-future-buchou, but Tezuka never feels the urge to change his name for Fuji. The name is all-encompassing and Tezuka finds he likes that.

Oh, the wonders of fishing.

Another subject he likes to dwell over is their relationship. For now it is a strictly friends institution and their talks revolve mostly around the newly integrated mixed-gender team, but the boyfriend-girlfriend rumor has quite the circulation in the student body, to Fuji's amusement and Tezuka's chagrin.

He would not mind trying out such a relationship, however; indeed, he thinks they may go down this particular path soon. He has not quite forgotten his fury over the match between Fuji and Rikkai's Kirihara.

A most interesting development to mull over, indeed, but he must cut short the thought lest he start imitating Inui. The possibility is daunting.

"Well, Tezuka, we've arrived at your home. See you tomorrow, ne?"

Before Tezuka can react, Fuji's lips are soft on his cheek, and when she pulls back he catches a flash of devious blue, which just confirms his theory. Fuji does know the object of his daily conjectures.

Surprisingly, he finds he does not mind.

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**There is a chance that I might continue writing for this verse...what do you think of it? Drop me a line! **


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